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The only way is Italian – pizza

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Well, I’ve noticed a little pattern… I go to Italy more often than to my own country, I hardly ever cook traditional Polish food (at Christmas mainly…), my kitchen is more risotto, gnocchi and pasta friendly rather than golabki or pierogi…I don’t know what it says about me, especially that I’m quite (ok, more than quite) temperamental which suggests I should have roots somewhere in Sicily rather than Poland.

But I just love their way, I feel so at home when I’m there (maybe because politicians are as bonkers as in Poland, corrupted and twisted and with no shame…?).

Anyway, for Boyfriend’s birthday this year we went to Venice (although I was there with my sister just a year ago. Yes, I know). We were soaking up the sun, wine, beer  and olive oil. It was lovely. I adore the restaurants by the canals and in little alleys.


restaurant in Venice

restaurant in Venice



restaurant in Venice

restaurant in Venice





We had some amazing meals, let me tell you. If you ever find yourself  in Venice, go to a restaurant shown to me by my friend Matteo first time I went, and try their ravioli. It’s orgasmic, I’m not kidding you. The restaurant is a bit out of the tourist track and some people on Tripadvisor bitch a little about the service but I’ve never had a bad experience and found the staff pleasant enough. You can find the link here.

And there is their amazing fresh pasta ravioli with sage and butter….

Ravioli in Birraria La Corta

Ravioli in Birraria La Corta

…Washed down nicely with Venetian spritz which you must have if you are there. There is nothing more satisfying than a slightly bitter, cold, alcoholic drink on a hot afternoon…And everyone else is drinking it, so you can blend in.

Venetian spritz

Venetian spritz

No wonder after we came home I wanted to pretend we were still there.

So I made pizza. Now, don’t ask me how to make the dough, because I never measure anything.  I just put into a metal bowl yeast ( fresh or dried), add some lukewarm water (1cup?) and a sprinkle of sugar or a bit of honey, and mix it till yeast  dissolves. Then I add olive oil (2 tbsp?) and flour. Not too much at first, I mix it and let it rest and leave it for the yeast to work its magic. After 15 min I add some more flour and start kneading. You have to really work on it. After the dough becomes less sticky and more springy, I leave it to rest and rise for 30 min. Then knead it again, prepare baking sheet and divide the dough into as many pieces as you’ve got people to feed. After, I roll it out and transfer it onto a baking sheet, i brush it with olive oil and leave it again to raise slightly. So there you have it, I can’t explain how to make the dough in any other way. It’s clearly magic (but you can probably find a more reliable source on the internet, the kind that doesn’t believe in magic and alchemy of cooking and measures everything…booyah!)

In the meantime of all that rising and resting of the dough malarkey you have to prepare your sauce. Usually a splash of olive oil in a pot, chopped shallot, 2 cloves of garlic, 5-7 chopped tomatoes, oregano, salt, pepper and a spoon of vodka (secret ingredient) does the job. You just simmer it till the sauce thickens but if you don’t have time you can buy nice, organic passata, simmer it for a few minutes till it thickens and pronto!

Then you just spread the sauce on your pizza and decorate it with whatever you fancy: cheese, olives, quorn vegetarian pepperoni, basil, etc. Bake in a really hot oven until cheese melts and the base is crisp and serve with shavings of vegetarian parmesan, a sprinkle of olive oil and a handful of rocket…and wine, but that should be obvious. Buon Appetito.





About potatofaces

People who cook always go on about precious memories of childhood food one of their family members cooked, how daddy or nanny taught them the importance of cooking and eating together, and they still remember the comfort food they produced, amazing dishes whipped up by brilliant but humble cooks in their family. Well, let me tell you, it was totally different in my family. My mother’s family – totally useless as cooks, who could survive on bread and butter, cooked once a week a terrible, terrible meal, usually some kind of meat piece with lots of brown sauce. Also, they were never bothered about eating together. That’s maybe why most of them were depressed and suicidal. My mother followed that path and couldn’t really cook, and because I never wanted to eat meat, was warning me that ‘one day I will regret it’. Probably because my mother wasn’t into cooking my sister at the age of 12 took over and started producing amazing dinners and cakes. Well, luckily for me and her we weren’t that genetically doomed because apparently my father’s family were gifted in that compartment. I can only presume it was genes, as my father divorced my mother when my sis and me were little and he strongly believed that he also divorced us. So, we were growing up never having any contact with him and as a result, couldn’t learn how to cook from him. That’s why I believe the love of cooking ( and the ability) was just passed to us genetically. My father, short time before he died, unexpectedly felt an urge to contact us. First he gave my sister a mandolin (that’s another thing I know about him- he played a few instruments). My sister refused to talk to him, he then decided to contact me and wanted to spend some time with me. I didn’t want to, as he was a stranger to me (I was 11 or 12 at the time) but as I was promised I could leave whenever I wanted to, I went to the village he lived in. There I tried his mother’s cooking everyone was raving about. It was simple and amazing, I wish they were as family dedicated as they were at baking, cooking, making pastries, wine, tinctures, you name it. But I ate, drunk, and got bored of strangers who were my family and demanded to be let to go home. One of the last things my father said to me was that I should start learning English because I might need it one day, which I ignored for another 16 years… Because my sister was such a domestic goddess I wasn’t really bothered about cooking. I got hooked properly after my son was born and I wanted him to eat healthy and get everything he needed, especially that it wasn’t his choice to be a vegetarian (yet). And that is how the story begins…

One response »

  1. Reblogged this on Thea's Blog.


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